Welcome to the Masquerade
by aurimaedre
Summary: Everyone has a mask, whether they know it or not. Molly has worked hard to perfect hers and keep herself hidden for the past decade but circumstances are causing her to face her past. Sherlock has gotten himself in too deep and the only person that can save him is her.


**Big thank you to the best beta ever, Inge (textsfromumbridge/ThinksInWords) . Without her this fic would still be in the back recesses of my brain. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

Molly watched as Sherlock slowly walked through the crowd towards the door. She had seen him look around for a dance partner only moments before and watched the realization settle on his face. He was truly alone now, or at least in his opinion, and she saw that reflected in his eyes and face. It was a look she knew intimately, the one from before. She desperately wanted to reach for him, to tell him he was never alone but thoughts of Tom held her back. She had a role to play, a mask to wear, but she couldn't handle not doing anything.

She feigned exhaustion and told Tom she was going to get a drink. Cup in hand, she moved to a clear window. Sherlock's shoulders were bent slightly forward, which was a full on slump for the exceedingly posh detective. He collar was turned up and his hands were stuffed in his pockets, giving the overall impression he was retreating into himself and preparing to lock up everything he had gained during the past few years away.

Molly hated to watch this. She hated being bound by commitment to do nothing at the moment. She also knew that when Sherlock did this, when he needed to escape, he overanalyzed everything compulsively... even more so than usual. He wouldn't be able to turn it off and it would drive him mad. As much as Sherlock denied it he needed companionship to quiet down the noise, the constant deductions in his mind palace. Molly also knew that this meant it was only a matter of time, hours probably, before he became suspicious over the CAM letter he read at the wedding.

Molly felt her already somber mood plummet at the thought. The look her and Mary shared after that letter had been read, the slight tensing of their shoulders and face, was the one thing she hoped would escape his notice in all the festivities... but now it was inevitable. She let her mind soak in that knowledge, mentally calculating the effects that would domino for a few moments.

"Molly?" Tom's hesitant voice sounded from behind her. She turned towards him without a word.

"Are you alright, Molls?"

God, how she hated that name. Molly was already a nickname and shortening a nickname just seemed illogical and irritating. It was only one of the number of things that had started to irritate her about him. She tried to smile but could only feel her skin tighten into a line. It didn't use to be this bad but since Sherlock came back and reminded her of how fascinating and exciting life was two years ago it took everything in her to appear interested in Tom. He was dull, boring, and thought that missionary was the only way to go... And she was slowly losing patience, especially after his absurd meat dagger theory.

"Yes. I'm alright." She responded tightly, obviously lying. In fact, she was very much not okay, but Tom was too dense to sense her lies. Sherlock would be able to tell she was lying. Granted, he wouldn't care either way, nor would he ask her what was wrong but at least he would know. Tom was just the opposite…he was like a puppy. So superficial. Just a few platitudes and he would wag his proverbial tale and drool over her shoes.

"That's good." He gave a hapless grin. "Would you like me to get you some punch? Maybe we could dance a little more. I believe they said we had some time before the couple had their last dance."

"Punch is fine." Anything was fine as long as it gave her a few more moments of isolated silence. She remembered when she first met Tom. It was six months after the fall and he was so sweet, kind, and attentive. Everything she desired in a man, qualities that she wished were present in Sherlock most of the time. He was even reasonably intelligent, or she assumed he had to be when she found out he was an accountant. It turned out that all he knew was how to operate a calculator, a spreadsheet, and three formulas. There was no original, creative thought outside of that. It was rather disappointing to discover but by then Molly had convinced herself that Tom was exactly what she needed and she stuck it out and endured. She didn't have to make an effort to constantly keep herself in check, to hide a part of herself because Tom never looked any farther than what she gave him. She even managed to convince herself that she was happy after a while. She met his friends and family, got a dog, and for a few moments she felt that her life was finally evening out, even if it was a little boring.

"Here you are dear." Tom said, handing her the punch.

Molly took a sip and gave a fake, dramatic yawn. "I think I am rather tired. Today has been rather exciting, don't you think?"

"I suppose it has." Tom agreed. God, did he have to agree with everything she said? There was such a thing as disagreement… but it looks like he had missed the memo. They stood there, awkwardly, silently staring at the crowd for what felt like forever.

"I think I am ready to call it a night." She said, drawing out her words for complete comprehension.

His eyes finally lit up with understanding. "I'll go get your coat!"

"Okay. I will meet you by the door; I just want to go say goodbye to John and Mary." She walked towards the edge of the dance floor and looked around for her friends. A small smile graced her lips as she saw the pair smiling down at each other. John was holding Mary close, her head on his chest as they swayed together lightly. Molly waved to catch their attention and waved goodbye.

Tom was already by the door, her coat in his hands. "Would you like me to walk you home, Molls?"

"No. I think I would enjoy a nice, quiet walk alone. It's so pretty tonight that I am going to take my time."

"Okay, if you are sure…"

"I am." She confirmed quickly. The last thing she wanted was for him to decide to walk with her.

"Ohhhhhhkay. I guess… text me when you get home?" He asked, slightly put out.

"Of course." She stood up on her toes and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I'll see you soon, Tom."

Molly walked up the steps of Baker Street and paused at the top of the stairs, staring at Sherlock's front door. She took a deep breath, slumped her shoulders inward, and pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth. She closed her eyes and took one last deep breath to get in the normal Molly Hooper mindset. It didn't take much to get there since it was only a slight exaggeration of her normal personality but it was needed to hide certain characteristics.

She lifted her hand and knocked loudly on the door, just in case Sherlock was in his mind palace and needed to be pulled from it. Minutes passed with still no movement inside the flat and Molly tried knocking with more force. Still nothing. This was normal Sherlock behavior so Molly tested the door knob. It gave way easily and she stepped inside the flat.

Her eyes immediately started scanning the apartment, looking for Sherlock. She didn't have to look far. Sherlock was laid out, in his dressing gown, on the couch. He was in, what appears to be, his normal sulking mood. Molly opened her mouth to announce her presence when his hands stopped her. They are not steepled underneath his chin, like he did when he was in his mind palace, nor was he on his side like when he pouted. Instead, Sherlock was lying flat on his back, even his head was in line with the rest of his body, and his hands were interdigitated across his midsection. Anyone other than Molly would have assumed he was sleeping and left him to it, but she knew better. His arms were tense by his side and his fingers were reddened from clenching them as if he were trying to hold something in. From the look on his face at the wedding it wasn't a farfetched idea that he didn't know how to handle the overwhelming sense of loneliness that he was left with after seeing everyone paired off and happy. Currently his brow was tensed in anger and frustration, like he was upset that he couldn't dispel his emotions and retreat into his mind palace. He once explained to her that his mind palace was a place of logic and analysis and the more agitated he felt the harder it was to gain access to. She could only imagine how hard it was from him, to feel like he was losing everyone again after having them back a short time ago. It was also against his will this time, so he had no time to prepare himself for what lay ahead.

Molly knew that interrupting him now wouldn't be an advisable solution so she took the opportunity to look around the flat and snoop. The first thing she noticed was the giant space in the middle of the living room from the absence of John's armchair; the second was that Sherlock's skull was turned around on the mantel. Obvious signs that Sherlock was beginning to retreat back into himself. Molly sighed to herself; of course he would be overdramatic and forget about Mrs. Hudson, Greg, and even her.

She moved to the area that interested her most, the wall where he posted all of his information and deductions. He always preferred to keep it this way in the midst of solving a case, said it kept everything handy and organized because the computer worked too slowly for his mind and the screen was too small. John would complain about it at least once a week. It took up too much space, it looked cluttered, and only Sherlock could keep all of the information stored in his mind. John would have rather had everything on a laptop or tablet so he wouldn't forget a vital piece of information at the crime scene. But, as with all arguments with Sherlock, he was quickly brushed aside and called a simpleton which would only cause the argument to escalate.

She looked up at the mess on the wall. Everything was clumped around in a circle with an empty space in the middle. She noticed one of the men that Sherlock was having monitored from his first case back on one side, some unsolved cases (the mayfly man case had a giant, red X through it), and some left over clippings from solved cases. All but one were connected in some way by red yarn. Molly's eyes were drawn to a fuzzy picture attached to a solved case, the one not attached to the rest of the cases. It would have been hard for anyone to make out any features but Molly could recognize the man anywhere. She knew the slope of those shoulders, the trained posture, and the signature cap that adorned his head and was flooded with memories. She cursed to herself but, before panicking, made herself step mentally away and re-examine. There was no way that Sherlock could determine anything but the height from this picture and that the suspect was wearing a hat. If he focused hard enough he would have been able to deduce more, but she doubted that Sherlock was in that stage of the case since it was an outliner among the others…. Which meant she could lure him away from this piece of evidence. Her eyes moved back to the connected cases and looked for something she could use. She felt guilty but she reminded herself that it was for his safety. She noticed another photo knew exactly what to do. And at least she would be actually helping him catch another killer, just… not the one he was looking for.

Molly turned around and faced Sherlock. He hadn't moved or made any acknowledgement that she was there, but she could tell he knew he was no longer alone. She checked herself to make sure she was mousy, awkward, shy Molly once more. However, several minutes passed and she no longer had to remember to exaggerate her awkwardness. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and began scraping her teeth over it repeatedly but she refused to be the one to start talking. Several more minutes passed in silence and she began shuffling her feet.

"Why are you here, Molly. Shouldn't you be back at the wedding cavorting with Tom and all the other guests?" His tone was scathing and Molly had to remind herself not to flinch at his harshness.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw you leaving the wedding early."

"As you can see I am perfectly fine. You can go." He said, flicking his hand towards the door.

"You are very much not okay if your skull and the absence of an armchair is any indication." She retorted back, frustrated that he was brushing her off yet again.

He raised his eyebrow in indignation, "I was getting rid of some clutter. The chair inhibited my work."

"And the skull?"

Sherlock turned his head away from her and refused to answer. "What did you think of the wedding?" She asked, changing the subject.

"Boring." He slung one arm over his face, putting up another barrier.

She moved closer to him on the couch to get a good look at his face, "Really? There was nothing that stuck out to you as remotely interesting?"

Sherlock gave a long, suffering sigh. "Aside from solving The Mayfly Man, nothing. It was all a show of sentiment. Useless rituals. Especially now when statically all marriages are likely to end in divorce."

"I thought you liked Mary, Sherlock."

"I do. And given all the other eligible women on the planet John couldn't have picked a more appropriate mate. They have a higher than normal chance of success I'd say. Doesn't stop it from being a pointless ritual."

"That sounds strange coming from a man that composed a violin piece for their first dance." She said slyly.

"Sentiment. Waste of my time and effort. I could have been solving cases instead." He scoffed.

That gave her the in she needed and since she was satisfied the letter hadn't crossed his mind she took it, "Yes, I was looking over your wall. Quiet the intricate web of information you have here."

"I have it organized in clusters by the individual cases. The pieces from solved cases are the ones that stuck out and didn't fit in their existing case." He explained.

"Would you like any help? I was able to provide some valuable help on the fake Ripper case and with the train case."

Sherlock laughed lightly, "Sure. If you want to try and deduce something out of that information that I haven't been able to yet go ahead."

She turned to make sure his arm was still slung over his eyes and walked to the wall. "Alright. I accept." The first thing she did was gently tear the fuzzy photo from earlier, leaving only a small corner, and slide it in her coat before moving the remaining piece behind some papers that were attached with it. When Sherlock went to look at the information again, he would just think that the photo ripped during some investigation and that Mrs. Hudson threw away the other portion while cleaning since it was obvious he hadn't looked at the information in some time.

"You have this piece connected to the wrong crime. They aren't connected at all."

Sherlock sat up, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you have the photo of the body and the autopsy report. I can see that this was out of the jurisdiction for Bart's morgue and whoever wrote up the report missed some things." She explained.

Sherlock let out a groan of frustration, "This is why I don't like incompetent people working on my things. But no. I have to play nice with others and follow the law."

"Now, the case you have it connected to I worked on. I remember this autopsy and the two are nothing alike, no matter what the paper says." She continued as though Sherlock never spoke.

"Go on." He probed.

"The thing that makes it different is how the body is laid out. In the case I did there were no markings or dirt on the face and the body was laid out peacefully. This meant that, while he was murdered, the murderer took great pride in his work and holds some respect for the dead. In this one," she pointed to the original photo, "the killer didn't care how the body was just, just that it was. They probably shoved him out of a moving vehicle judging by the way the body is contorted. I bet if you check the autopsy report you will find multiple breaks that are congruent to being pushed out of a car."

She turned to face him, "This means that there are two different killers, and this killer is a first time murderer." She chose to leave out the information that the other killer was a well experienced assassin since she just tore his photo off the wall.

Sherlock stayed silent for a few moments, processing what she just told him and filing it away. "Thank you, Molly. This new evidence should come in handy wrapping up this case. From now on I will just have to demand that all bodies be taken to Bart's or I won't work on them. This case could have been solved in a day if the pathologist wasn't a dolt."

"You're welcome." She could feel her cheeks warm and redden in a blush. "Well… I guess… if you are sincerely okay, I should go…" She fiddled with her hair before turning to walk out. She knew by now not to expect pleasantries of goodbye from Sherlock.

She had just put her hand on the doorknob when Sherlock's voice stopped her. "Molly." He sounded like he was right behind her. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"Would you like to assist me on cases from time to time? Now that John is gone… it means I am all alone again. I got rather used to having someone present at crime scenes, to talk to."

"Of course, Sherlock, as long as it doesn't interfere with my own job. That has to come first."

A few moments of silence passed before Sherlock began muttering to himself, "I would have been able to solve every case alone, probably in half the time but I find that the thought of going back to that disconcerting. I don't like it… it's sentiment… sentiment makes you weak. I should work on cases alone. It is what I am meant to do, not get distracted by goldfish as Mycroft says. He always was… is right. Even as a child I could never keep goldfish for very long."

Molly could still hear him and her heart broke for him. She wanted to embrace him but held herself back. He wouldn't like the knowing that she heard everything. "What was that Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up as if surprised she was still there, "I was just saying that I changed my mind. I will not need you to go on cases with me. I will be able to solve them faster if I don't have someone holding me back. But I will need you at Bart's. You have proven yourself to be a competent pathologist and I refuse to work with anyone else."

Molly blinked, "Okay, Sherlock."

"That is all. Goodnight, Molly." He turned and walked back to the couch and settling in his mind palace.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." She said to the empty air before turning and walking out.

She was lost in her thoughts as she walked the ten blocks back to her flat. Her hand was absentmindedly fingering the photo in her pocket while her other fidgeted with her phone. She needed to figure out what to do with this information.

She was halfway home when her focus was broken by her phone ringing. "Hello?"

"Molly?" The voice on the other end was whispered and frantic.

"Mary?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Aren't you supposed to be asleep next to your new husband right now?" She teased.

"I was. I snuck away saying I needed to get ice." Her voice still held a frantic edge to it.

"Why are you calling me, Mary? You should be enjoying your wedding night." Molly said, her voice becoming stern and directive.

"I know, Molly. I know. But I can't get it out of my head. The letter. Why would he send the letter Molly."

"I don't know, Mary. We both know that he likes to play games. This is just another game to him. There is nothing to worry about." She said, trying to reassure her.

"But if he knows who and where I am, that means he could know where you are. Do we need to run, Molly?" Her voice was still tinged with panic.

"What you need to do right now is go enjoy your wedding night. This is nothing to worry about and we are safe. I will take care of everything." Molly commanded.

"But-"

"It's taken care of Mary." Molly interrupted.

She could finally hear the sigh of relief on the other end, "If you say so, Molly."

"I promise, Mary. Just forget about it and go enjoy your newly married life. You deserve it Mary."

She could practically hear Mary's smile of happiness over the phone. "Thank you, Molly. I will see you when we get back, we'll do lunch."

"We better. I expect to hear all about how John drank himself silly or any other funny honeymoon stories. And congratulations, Mary, you two are going to be wonderful parents."

She hung up the phone and stepped into her apartment. She walked over to her bookshelf and reached behind it to grab a dusty book. She never thought she would need this again. She placed the picture in it and sat it on her coffee table. Hopefully this was the only time she would need to pull it out again, but knowing Sherlock that wasn't going to be the case.


End file.
